The Gambling Man

‘Well, lass, where there’s life there’s hope they say. As long as he’s breathin’ he’s got a chance, but if you want my opinion, it’s a slim one. He was always a gamblin’ man, but he’s on a long shot now.’ She put her cup down on a side table and her tightly pressed lips trembled.

Again there was silence until Lizzie said quietly, ‘It’s not me intention to trouble you at this time, for God knows you’ve got enough on your plate, but . . . but I think there’s somethin’ you should know ’cos there’s only you can do anything about it . . . Janie. She’s been outside all night sittin’ in the stables, your coachman says. He doesn’t know who she is of course. He told one of your lasses that there was a strange woman there and she wouldn’t go, she was one of his relatives he thought.’

Lizzie now watched Charlotte rise to her feet and, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, go towards the fire and stand looking down into it, and she said to her, ‘When she walked into the kitchen last night I was for droppin’ down dead meself.’

Charlotte’s head was moving in small jerks. The woman, the girl, his wife . . . his one-time wife in her stables? She had a vague memory of seeing a black huddled figure kneeling at Rory’s side in the yard, then again when they had lifted him on to the cart, and for a moment she had glimpsed it again in the shadows of the drive. What must she do? Would Rory want to see her? He had once loved her . . . She couldn’t bear that thought; he was hers, wholly hers. The happiness she had experienced with him in the months past was so deep, so strong, that the essence of it covered all time back to her beginning and would spread over the years to her end, and beyond. And he loved her, he had said it. He had put it into words, not lightly like some unfledged puppy as he had been when he married his childhood playmate, but as a man who didn’t admit his feelings lightly. So what place had that girl in their lives? What was more, he had told her he wanted none of her . . .

‘If he had been taken to the hospital she would have seen him, she would have claimed the right.’

Charlotte swung round. Her face dark now, she glared at the fat woman, and for a moment she forgot that she knew her as Rory’s aunt. She was just a fat woman, a common fat woman, ignorant. What did she know about rights?

‘Don’t frash yourself, ’cos you know as well as I do the law would say she had a right. They would take no heed that his feelings had changed.’ She nodded now at Charlotte. ‘Oh, aye, Janie told me he wouldn’t go back to her, he had told her so to her face, and that must have been hard to stomach. So havin’ the satisfaction that he wanted you, and seemingly not just for what you could give him, it should be in your heart, and it wouldn’t do you any harm, to let her have a glimpse of him.’

‘I can’t.’

Lizzie now got to her feet and heaved a sigh before she said, ‘Well, if you can’t, you can’t, but I’d like to remind you of one thing, or point it out, so to speak. As I see it, you should be holding nothing against her. You’ve got nothin’ to forgive her for except for being alive She’s done nothin’ willingly to you. The boot’s on the other foot. Oh aye—’ she dropped her chin on to her chest—‘it was all done in good faith, legal you might say, but nevertheless it was done. How would you feel this minute if you were in her place? Would you be sitting all night in the stables hoping to catch a glimpse of him afore he went?’

Charlotte sat slowly down on the couch again and, bending her long body forward, she gripped her hands between her knees.

It was some time, almost five minutes later when she whispered, ‘Take her up. But . . . but I mustn’t see her; I . . . I will stay here for half an hour. That is, if . . . if he doesn’t need me.’

She was somewhat surprised when she received no answer. Turning her head to the side, she saw Lizzie walking slowly down the room. She was a strange woman, forthright, domineering, and she had no respect for class . . . of any kind. Yet there was something about her, a comfort.

She lay back on the couch and strained her ears now to the sounds coming from the hall. She heard nothing for some minutes, then the front door being closed and the soft padding of footsteps across the hall towards the stairs brought her upright. She was going up the stairs, that girl, his wife, she was going up to their bedroom, to hers and Rory’s bedroom. And she would be thinking she was going to see her husband. No! No, not her husband, never any more. Hadn’t he told her she could do what she liked but he’d never return to her?

She’d be by his bedside now looking at him, remembering their love, those first days in the boathouse.

‘My wife won’t be there, miss, but you’re welcome.’ She was back sitting behind the desk again looking at him as he told her he was married.